


Seventeen

by sloganeer



Category: Everwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-15
Updated: 2003-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's where he stops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous lurker. Prompt: basket.

They always had a big breakfast on Sundays. Mom would make pancakes, or sometimes waffles, depending on whose choice it was that weekend. Bacon and orange juice, too, and Dad would push the fruit. When Sundays were warm, Bright would grab his ball and head outside to shoot some hoops.

He notices Amy standing at the edge of the driveway after his seventh consecutive basket.

"I'm going to Denver," she says.

"Ask Dad for a ride." Bright sinks eight, then nine on the rebound.

"I thought I'd ask you first."

"I've gotta get some practice in." Ten. Bright scores more points when Colin's on the court with him. Eleven. But the Abbott's driveway isn't the basketball court.

"Don't you miss him at all?" Amy's mouth is a stiff straight line when he looks up. Maybe she hasn't noticed the empty seat Bright saves every lunch hour. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Twelve. Bright doesn't say those things anymore. He promised. They used to say that they could be together in college, but if that didn't happen, there would always be two houses next to each other on a busy street in Everwood, and someone to call dibs on the first Superbowl Sunday.

Thirteen. They didn't have that now. Fourteen. And they didn't even have basketball. Not really. If he did wake up (and it was always "if" in Bright's mind), it would be a long time spent on the sidelines. Fifteen.

"Just go, Amy." Bright holds onto the ball and refused to shoot until she left. The look in Amy's eyes just might break him down, but she gives up too easily.

Sixteen. Bright still has his ball and his basket, and on quiet Sunday mornings, he can forget about everything but the guy not there to catch his pass. He shoots instead.

Seventeen. That's where he always stops.


End file.
